A Duke's Wicked Kiss (Entangled Select) (12 page)

“Marguerite!” Suri pivoted to hide her heated cheeks. “So, Ravenswood is more than a casual acquaintance to you and Harry? Then you are aware he is a widower?”

“Indeed.” Marguerite picked up a paper fan from a side table and set it in motion with a flick of her wrist. “Harry and I arrived in Delhi a year after his wife died. I’m told they were quite the unlikely couple, but he was faithful to her, nonetheless. Despite the reputation that precedes him, I do not believe him to be a libertine. Since I firmly deem him to be the marrying kind, why don’t you relax and let the gods of fate have their way?”

Suri fought butterflies now. “Be reasonable, Marguerite. I’ve been on the shelf so long you could use a feather duster on me and not get the layers of grime off. That, and my heritage, place me in a particularly sorry frame of reference. I’ll not become someone’s mistress during my brief stint in India.” But oh, God, every inch of her ached to be in Ravenswood’s bed. “I’ll be gone soon, back to Bedfordshire, and he’ll remain here with nearly every English woman in India after him. Look at the way Mrs. Abernathy slobbered all over him like a puppy.”

Marguerite heaved a sigh. “Don’t be a dolt. I doubt he gives a care what people think, and he can rightly cause you to be accepted in society. Besides, you’d hardly be considered a mistress for such a short duration. Better you enjoy a wild and clandestine affair with a man who excites you than to go to your grave with nothing but a dismal memory of your brief encounter with that groomsman.”

“That’s enough, Marguerite!”

Her sister sniffed. “Well, it’s true. Think about it, Suri. I, for one, wouldn’t judge you should you decide to…to have a little fling. In fact, I’d be rather relieved. Perhaps it would be pleasurable enough an experience to cause you to change your outlook on marriage, and once back in England, you’d find yourself a decent fellow. I worry about your future.”

“Yes, yes, Marguerite, my worrisome future. Must we end up on that tedious subject?” The edge was off Suri’s headache, but nonetheless, she longed for privacy. “Lord, but I’ll be relieved to be gone from here. Especially after what was discussed in that…that odd marble room. I doubt it’s healthy for any of us to remain in Delhi.” Good, she’d use the military tension as an excuse to leave as soon as she met up with her grandmother.

Marguerite began to pace. “Suri, there’s something I must tell you. Harry’s confided in me that His Grace is certain his brother’s death was no accident. He is convinced someone murdered the man, and Ravenswood seeks the killer.”

Suri gasped. “Murdered?”

“Indeed. What’s worse, he feels whoever committed the act is the same person feeding lies to the leaders who wish to revolt against the East India Company.”

Marguerite’s pacing accelerated. “It’s not such a grand idea for you to go to this wedding. Not even with Ravi Maurya.” Her heels tapped the floor with each syllable. “Perhaps Harry and Ravenswood are right—we should take Jeremy. Make our way to Bombay, and back to England. Rather soon.”

Suri’s stomach churned so, milk would have gone to butter. She rubbed her temples again. How very long she’d waited to meet her grandmother. She couldn’t possibly miss this chance. There’d be no other. The need to meet with her relatives, to touch her roots, warred with the wild urge to flee this torrid place. If only she could return to England. Start her school. It wouldn’t take much to collect a few illegitimate half-castes along the way to Bombay. “I’ll not leave until this wedding is over and done. And I mean it.”

Distress pinched Marguerite’s face. She began twisting her handkerchief. “I have my family to think of. Harry says he can follow later if need be. He tells me if mutiny breaks out after we’ve gone, he could travel much faster alone. I have to think of him as well.”

Suri kept rubbing her temples. She couldn’t leave. Not yet. “Then go, Marguerite. I got here from Calcutta with only a maid servant and a small military guard. I can certainly travel the shorter distance to Bombay. You can wait for me there if you’re so concerned about sailing alone.”

Tears flooded Marguerite’s eyes and her hands shook. “Don’t do this to me, Suri. I’m not prepared to leave Delhi without you. We need each other. I fear I cannot protect Jeremy by myself. I…I’m not like you. I’m not brave enough to travel alone. Harry says we’ll have an army escort, but a troop of marching sepoys hardly makes for family, which I so desperately need.”

Alarm shot through Suri at her sister’s frightened response. “Why have you become exceedingly concerned?”

Marguerite choked on a sob. “There’s certain information Harry gave me in confidence that I cannot utter, even to you, because the walls may have ears and—”

“Oh, dear!” Suri rushed over and threw her arms around her sister. “Then I shall only remain at the wedding a day or two.”
Until I meet my grandmother
. “I promise. We can leave for Bombay immediately thereafter.”

Marguerite pulled away and rubbed her nose with her handkerchief. “Why is an Indian wedding so confounded important that you’d risk your neck to attend?” She paused with her handkerchief in mid-air. Her face turned ashen. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me you’ve got some fool idea that you’ll meet up with your relatives?”

Suri’s back stiffened.

“Good God, Suri! What an irrational idea! You know how Papa spoke against that very idea. It would be dangerous for you to try to meet them—madness, in fact. And how would you know who they are?” She swiped a hand over her brow. “Oh, this is utterly ridiculous.”

Frustration wound through Suri like a vine around a tree, fraying her nerves. She only hoped her keen-eyed sister wouldn’t put two and two together regarding Ravi-ji. “Please, Marguerite, the wedding is not so long off. Even Harry said remaining a fortnight would do.”

Marguerite paced again. “Ravenswood and Mister Vámbéry wanted us out sooner. That is, until Vámbéry found out you understood Urdu and decided he could use you. I don’t like this. Not one bit.”

Panic spit bile into Suri’s throat. “Please, you know this has haunted me all my life. Give a care, Marguerite. I’ve come this far, don’t let it be for naught.”

Marguerite halted. “Oh, don’t look at me like a lamb being led to slaughter. Attend your foolish wedding. It’ll take me that long to make preparations, anyway.”

Suri nipped at her bottom lip. “Don’t tell Harry the true reason I wish to attend.”

Marguerite’s hands fisted at her stomach. “I’ll not bring up the subject of your relatives to him, but should he ask, I’ll not lie.”

“Why should he bring up the subject?”

Marguerite waved a hand over her face. “Likely, he won’t, but he was well aware of the many arguments you and Papa had over your dodgy notion of contacting your mother’s family.” She straightened and turned to Suri. “Now rest. I’ll call for Munia to finish cleaning the floor. We’ve guests for dinner this evening.”

“Not—”

“Yes. Harry invited Ravenswood again. It’s my understanding he’ll be here every evening until we depart for Bombay. Both men are concerned about us, whether you like it or not.”

“Well, I
am
going to the wedding.”

“I heard you!”

“You don’t have to shout, Marguerite. I’ve a headache, not plugged ears.”

…

John leaned a shoulder against the far wall of the ballroom and sipped his brandy. He shifted, rolled the stiffness from his neck, and draped one ankle across the other. Through lowered lids, he pretended to study the Chathams’s guests. Above strains of an all-too-familiar tune, laughter and conversation rippled through the crush like stones skipping across calm water.

A subtle shift in the atmosphere and fresh awareness shimmered across his skin.
She
was here. Uncrossing his feet, he straightened his spine, squared his shoulders, and slowly, deliberately, scanned the crowd. His vision narrowed to one particular spot across the room. Chatter merged into an indistinct buzz, and ladies’ gowns became blotches of color as they swirled by in rhythm to the music. His lungs seized at the sight of Suri and Ravi Maurya, heads together, he in crisp white native attire, she in a low-cut yellow gown that practically bared her breasts—those exquisitely perfect breasts.

Could it be possible she looked even lovelier tonight? Or was it that he’d changed since their meeting in the library? His grip tightened around the stem of his glass.

“Easy.” As if to calm his pet, the word passed smoothly through his lips. Only it wasn’t the cheetah he soothed. He raised the glass and forced more brandy over his tongue. His response to Suri, to the fever that heated his blood and swelled his chest, transcended lust. Whatever the elusive something was that connected them, he’d be a fool to pass it off as such.

The fact that she wanted him as well only stoked the fire in him. The pulse drumming at the base of her throat like the heartbeat of a terrified bird when he’d bent to kiss her, the soft flushing of her cheeks, the way her eyes deepened to emerald—all said what she’d not dared. Just like ten years ago.

Suri glanced up as someone passed by, smiled, and went back to whatever the hell Maurya whispered in her ear. What could the bastard be saying that she finds so damn interesting? Most likely discussing plans to attend the deuced wedding. Well, he’d made plans of his own. Careful plans. While there wasn’t much he could do when she was sequestered in the women’s quarters, he’d arranged to have a guard close by. Ready whenever she stepped beyond the threshold. Vámbéry had his own agenda. John wasn’t about to entrust Suri to his care.

A gust of sultry air blew in through the open shutters. Candles flickered. Suri dabbed a white handkerchief along the back of her neck. Good. If that wasn’t a white flag waving surrender, he didn’t know what was. She wouldn’t last much longer in this hell-hot evening, not wearing all those confining clothes, anyway.

An image of her naked and beneath him rolled through his mind—her legs around his hips, her fingers clutching his bare shoulders while she cried out his name. His groin tightened and his blood thrummed a wild, erratic beat. He’d waited this long.

But not much longer.

He’d have her in his bed within the week.

Maurya leaned closer to Suri’s ear, laid his hand on her arm in the process. The spark of possession that had flickered earlier in John caught flame, took hold, and burned his gut. Christ, he was better off when he’d felt nothing. At least then he wouldn’t be fighting the urge to tramp over there, grab her by the arm, and drag her off.

Her head came up. She turned and faced him as if she’d known all this time he studied her. Her gaze reached across the room—a physical touch—spurring his arousal.

Maurya’s motion caught John’s attention. The bastard stared straight at Suri’s breasts. Even from where John stood, he saw hunger in the man’s eyes. A lick of rage shot through him.

He’d beat the cur bloody.

Suri turned away when a woman approached from behind and spoke to her. It was as if a door had slammed shut.

He should leave. Both his temper—and his body—needed a chance to cool. Swallowing the last of his brandy, he set the glass inside the container of a potted palm and rolled his shoulders off the wall. Stiff muscles flexed as he moved. Christ, he hadn’t realized how rigid he’d been. With barely a tug on the chain, Shahira rose.

“Come, girl. I’ve plans.”

…

Suri didn’t have to glance over to the far side of the room to know Ravenswood was no longer there. She could
feel
the room empty of his existence. Somehow, she simply
knew
he’d departed.

The room suddenly grew stifling.
Blasted corset!
She could barely breathe in the oppressive heat in the first place, but with the way Munia had tightened her laces…oh, how she longed for a sari…or her night rail. With a sigh, she said to Ravi-ji, “I must locate my sister. I fear this stifling weather has me enervated.”

He smiled while his beautiful eyes slowly wandered over her as if drinking her in. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Never. I won’t be here long enough. As soon as my…ah…visit is complete, I intend to take myself back to England.”

He gave a slight bow. “We shall see. You may find yourself growing quite fond of India in due time.”

“I very much doubt it.”

A faint smile touched his full mouth.

This time Suri didn’t much care for it. A sudden wariness crept in, but she wasn’t sure why.

“Ah, there you two are,” Marguerite announced upon her approach. “You must have much to discuss, what with the coming event. I was hoping to hear more about this wedding, Ravi-ji. I’m so sorry everyone had my ear tonight. I do hope you’ll grace us with your company these next few evenings, so I can have my fill of the thrilling details.”

“Of course,” he responded. “I should be delighted to inform you of what your enchanting sister might expect. I doubt there is anything in the world like a royal Indian wedding. How fortunate Miss Thurston happens to be visiting you during this momentous event.”

Despite her pleasant words, the inquisitive tilt of her head, Marguerite’s lips ringed with tension. “Munia, her
nauker
, will travel along as an escort and see to her needs, but I understand from the note you sent Suri that she’ll have several others in attendance as well. Do take good care of her, Ravi-ji. She is my only sister.”

He chuckled. “But of course. She’ll be treated as much like a queen as will the bride.” He gave a slight bow. “My ladies.” He turned and wove his way through the crowd with the grace of a gazelle.

Marguerite arched a brow. “Gracious, but he’s a handsome one, isn’t he?”

“That he is,” Suri answered.
And my cousin.

“I imagine Ravenswood didn’t like it much, you two with your heads together all the evening.”

Every nerve in Suri’s body prickled. Flicking her fingers at a skewed flounce of lace, she set it to rights. “Ravenswood is nothing to me.”

“Of course not, dear.” Marguerite’s brows furrowed. “Are you quite all right? You look as though you’re about to expire on the spot.”

“This wicked corset Munia fastened too tight is about to do me in. The faster I escape this room, the quicker it will come off.”